devil of small death
by eltinka
Summary: she laughs, sucks her saccharine into her mouth. just for him. so he knows; this is victory. you’ll never know the taste of it.
1. bittersweet

It happens when the anger overflows, except this time it _aches _like never before.

It stings, the heat coming to life from the bottom of her stomach and spreading all over inside and pouring, pouring, endlessly. It's always something stupid. _Always something meaningless_.

But how could she stop? How could she stop _now_?

There's a bitterness between her teeth and down her chest. She heaves into the air, thick with September night, body filled with the moonlight stretched across her skin.

She's unbuttoning her shirt, pulling off her pants. Spreading herself open. Shaking, even the tips of her fingers, with disdain.

_Fucking despicable. Fucking useless. Fucking pig._

She tears her underwear off her heat, hate built like stone in her throat, blood laced with sun. Boiling. Burning.

She circles her clit, hard and deep. Over and over. Twitches with the dream of his tongue over it. In her. Eating her whole.

His chest grazing against her back, breath hot by her neck, hands skimming past the sides of her breasts.

(That was real. Too real.)

She wants to throw up. _Die_.

She pinches her nipple, (hismouthslidinghotoverhers) rolls it 'til it stings. She rubs the length of her middle finger down her slit (suckinghertongueintohismouth) and moans, loud.

Hopes he hears it. Hopes it's _ugly_.

_Fuck your sleep. Stay away from me._

She spreads her hand over herself and squeezes (herpussygrindingintohispalm). Slips a finger in. Breathes so hard, throws her head back, feels her chest jiggle.

Her belly is tangled and aflame and sinking lower, her heart following. She fucks herself the way she imagines he would, (deephardfast) groans and whines and _curses_ and _keens_ _and cu—_

Her name sounds gruff from behind the door, almost like a prayer.

"_Casey._"

_Go to hell and drown there._

She spreads her legs even wider, fucks herself even slower. Dares him in the silence to come in. To see for himself.

How wrong he's been. How wrong he always is.

The knob rattles slightly. She goes faster. Smiles with each sigh.

She feels wicked, high and mighty, strung to the top. Where she _belongs_.

_Open the door. Open the door and watch me finish._

At the sliver of darkness he opened to her, the ache breaks and sparks and explodes up her spine and down to her toes, becoming and becoming and becoming.

She laughs, sucks her saccharine into her mouth. _Just_ for him. So he knows; _this is victory_. _You'll never know the taste of it_.

Behind her sweet, his name swells.

"Oh, _Derek_."

His footsteps are heavy as he walks away.

—-

This is how she tortures him, every night.

She says his name. Always soft, but enough for him to hear from behind her door. She knows he comes to listen. Knows he can't help himself.

In the day, he smirks and teases and comes too close but they both know.

Sometimes, he dares to touch her skin, squeeze her hips, smooth over her waist. He thinks it gives him the upperhand. That he can make her stumble, now.

When he starts to forget who's in charge, she cums at least twice.

—-

It starts because: "Stop going after my _friends_. You're average at best. Flat. And straight up _unfuckable_."

She's never been so mad that she can't even _speak_.

—

She stops for a few nights. Lets the tension build.

She can feel him waiting. Always after midnight. _I'd sacrifice much more than sleep to make you suffer_.

It must be his breath that sounds so heavy behind the wall. She falls asleep with a smile.

Dreams of his fingers sliding in and out of her.

—

She starts to wear tighter shirts, the ones that show a bit too much belly, a bit too much cleavage, a bit too much back over her low cut jeans. She wears that push-up bra that practically cuts her circulation off, but damn if her boobs don't look _so _good. _Who's flat again?_

In the kitchen, she flips her hair to the side and bites into her toast. She takes her time licking the jam off her bottom lip. When she's done, she makes a show of putting her pretty pink lip gloss back on.

His eyes are burning holes through her. She bends over when she puts her plate into the sink, shakes her ass just the slightest bit.

Everyone leaves, but he stays. Arms crossed and _pissed_. She spins and winks. Walks away.

But then his hand is splayed over her stomach, pulling her back. Then she's flush against his chest. Then his mouth is by her ear, hot.

"Who are you fooling?" he says low, and reaches under the shoulder of her shirt, snapping her bra strap. Hard. She hisses.

He doesn't let her leave. He holds her there. Seconds that drag on for_ever_.

He pulls her top up, over her breasts. "_Cover up_." It sounds so _bitter_.

Once she's free, she faces him. Pulls it down even lower than before.

He looks dangerous. Like he'll hurt her.

Like he'll _eat _her.

He bumps his shoulder so hard against hers that she stumbles.

—-

She likes being poison — no, _loves _it. Biting into his bloodstream.

_I'm on top. I always have been. Always will be_.

—-

In school, he avoids her.

So, naturally, she goes out of her way to find him. She memorized his schedule at the beginning of the semester, anyway.

But he always turns the corner. Always hides.

For weeks, this goes.

Until she sees him in the hallway with his tongue down some girl's throat. In waves, her blood runs cold.

He slowly blinks his eyes open. Stares right at her.

Winks.

—-

That night, she's whining and whimpering his name. Panting like that porn star she watched for _research_.

_Fucking despicable. Fucking useless. Fucking pig._

She'll kill him slowly. Twist the knife into every corner. _Suffer. Suffer. Suffer._

Sex is power, isn't it? Isn't that what it's all about? She can win now. She can _win_.

When she cums, her whole body lifts off the bed.

"Deeeer-_ek."_

In that moment, a moan.

From the other side of the wall.


	2. longing

The months of holding back. The longing. The denial. The mischievous look in their eyes and the smiles behind them. Animals at play.

The way her smile cracked. The way hate leaks from her bedroom. The sound of it.

The heat and the regret and the regret of the regret.

_Get yourself together._ _There's no way in hell she'll break you down._

The knot in his gut that knows he won't come out of this whole.

* * *

Her voice pulls him by the dick to her door. She must've discovered witchcraft. He's never been this weak.

Every night, he waits to hear her. He knows she knows and she knows he knows she knows. It's that cruel shit-eating grin she wears so disgustingly _well_.

He wants to puke. He wants it all to _disgust _him. To put her in her place and shut her the fuck up.

Except every single strained sound goes straight to his cock and even down to his fucking toes.

Every time she bends over, gets too close. Wears the tightest clothes he's seen. Leaves her door open just a crack.

The glimpses he's gotten, legs spread wide open, begging, begging, _begging_, and he's _losing it_.

_She's ugly. Annoying. Neurotic. _

_The absolute sexiest thing I've ever seen._

* * *

It's not a conscious thought. She starts to fuck herself again and he joins in.

He whips it out, strokes himself hard and slow. Doesn't really register the noises he's making. All he knows is that she's _quiet_.

Why stop now? After weeks of _this_, why stop _now?_

He takes her name and draws it out and rolls it off his tongue like he's fucking it into her. Takes himself and pumps faster.

"_Hmm… _why you stopping now, Case? Make those pretty noises for me," he whispers heavily. Almost hopes she doesn't hear.

Goes harder. Faster. The knot turning over and low.

"C'mon, Casey. _I'm not asking_."

She sighs, just barely. He's singed by the heat of it.

"Cum. Cum for me. Cum for me." A mantra. So selfish. _Desperate_.

She's humming, tossing, writhing. Fighting his words, as if there was any use.

"Or I'll come and do it _myself_."

It feels empty coming out of his mouth.

Painful when she finishes right after.

* * *

He doesn't know when he realized he'd pick her over everyone else. It might've been when they first met.

But he doesn't _do_ all that. He doesn't push his feelings away. He doesn't even _have _feelings to push away.

(It's not like she wants him, anyway.)

* * *

He brings different girls home. Shoves his tongue down their throats and his hand up their skirts.

Makes sure she's watching.

He takes her food, drinks her drinks, gulps everything down while he stares at her.

Scrapes his eyes down her body every time they pass at home. Keeps it on her lips or her tits or her ass.

Touches her. Grazes her. Squeezes her, at every given chance. _It never felt this good before._

He whispers in her ear. Tells her nothing.

Nothing that they need to say.

* * *

He always wanted to touch her. Still, he wants to touch her. All the _time_.

He doesn't deny himself, now. With the game they're playing?

He's never felt so lucky.

* * *

It keeps going, most nights.

In the day, he watches her slowly lose her grip. Calculating her next move.

What she doesn't know is how long he's practiced acting like he couldn't give two fucks about her. How he wouldn't devour her, given the chance.

(Under different circumstances, of course.)

He can push everything down. He can keep his depravity in that small part of his brain of things he absolutely _refuses_ to consider.

The lock only opens when he's saying filthy things to her through the wall. Leaking all over his fist. Wishing he had the courage to burst into her room and _have _her.

But that'd make him a loser, wouldn't it? And _fuck_ if he gave into her.

Even when she cums twice.

* * *

She decides to stay home on the day he decides to stay home.

Both of them. Alone. In the house.

He doesn't know what he expects. He's almost, _dare _he say… nervous. She may be clumsy, but she is more relentless than fucking _ever_.

And his self-control may be faltering. Just slightly.

She leaves the bathroom door wide open while she showers. And sings. He runs to the kitchen and eats everything he can find. _Don't give in. Don't give in. Don't give in._

Then she's there, hair dried and curled. Makeup done. Wearing nothing but —

"Hope you don't mind that I borrowed your jersey. It just looked so… _comfortable_."

_Bitch._

He smiles sarcastically. "Not at _all. Sis._"

She flips her hair and walks to the fridge. Makes yet another show of bending all the way over. Lets his jersey slide up her back.

He reaches over and snaps the elastic of her underwear. Hard. She grimaces and stands, pouting angrily.

"Pink? How old are you?"

"Old enough to know that color preferences don't tell someone's age," she bites back.

"Sure, Case. When you're done wearing that, you mind burning it for me?" he says, raking his eyes down her legs and back up again.

The shoulder of his jersey is slipping off her bare shoulder. He licks his lips.

"Mind if I keep it for a little longer?"

He stalks towards her, staring darkly, drinking in the sight of her backing up against the counter. She bumps against it and he locks her in with an arm on either side.

He gets his face close to hers, noses nearly brushing, looking down on her in the way he's always resisted.

"I do mind."

He slides his fingers up the back of her thigh, slides and slides until it's under the baby pink cotton and he's _grabbing_ her ass. She gasps and arches into him.

She's panting onto his lips, sinking her nails into his wrist. He grins evilly. Leans in close to her ear.

"Take it off."


	3. touch

It happens when the anger overflows, except this time it _aches _like never before.

It stings, the heat coming to life from the bottom of her stomach and spreading all over inside and pouring, pouring, endlessly. It's always something stupid. _Always something meaningless_.

But how could she stop? How could she stop _now_?

There's a bitterness between her teeth and down her chest. She heaves into the air, thick with September night, body filled with the moonlight stretched across her skin.

She's unbuttoning her shirt, pulling off her pants. Spreading herself open. Shaking, even the tips of her fingers, with disdain.

_Fucking despicable. Fucking useless. Fucking pig._

She tears her underwear off her heat, hate built like stone in her throat, blood laced with sun. Boiling. Burning.

She circles her clit, hard and deep. Over and over. Twitches with the dream of his tongue over it. In her. Eating her whole.

His chest grazing against her back, breath hot by her neck, hands skimming past the sides of her breasts.

(That was real. Too real.)

She wants to throw up. _Die_.

She pinches her nipple, (hismouthslidinghotoverhers) rolls it 'til it stings. She rubs the length of her middle finger down her slit (suckinghertongueintohismouth) and moans, loud.

Hopes he hears it. Hopes it's _ugly_.

_Fuck your sleep. Stay away from me._

She spreads her hand over herself and squeezes (herpussygrindingintohispalm). Slips a finger in. Breathes so hard, throws her head back, feels her chest jiggle.

Her belly is tangled and aflame and sinking lower, her heart following. She fucks herself the way she imagines he would, (deephardfast) groans and whines and _curses_ and _keens_ _and cu—_

Her name sounds gruff from behind the door, almost like a prayer.

"_Casey._"

_Go to hell and drown there._

She spreads her legs even wider, fucks herself even slower. Dares him in the silence to come in. To see for himself.

How wrong he's been. How wrong he always is.

The knob rattles slightly. She goes faster. Smiles with each sigh.

She feels wicked, high and mighty, strung to the top. Where she _belongs_.

_Open the door. Open the door and watch me finish._

At the sliver of darkness he opened to her, the ache breaks and sparks and explodes up her spine and down to her toes, becoming and becoming and becoming.

She laughs, sucks her saccharine into her mouth. _Just_ for him. So he knows; _this is victory_. _You'll never know the taste of it_.

Behind her sweet, his name swells.

"Oh, _Derek_."

His footsteps are heavy as he walks away.

This is how she tortures him, every night.

She says his name. Always soft, but enough for him to hear from behind her door. She knows he comes to listen. Knows he can't help himself.

In the day, he smirks and teases and comes too close but they both know.

Sometimes, he dares to touch her skin, squeeze her hips, smooth over her waist. He thinks it gives him the upperhand. That he can make her stumble, now.

When he starts to forget who's in charge, she cums at least twice.

—-

It starts because: "Stop going after my _friends_. You're average at best. Flat. And straight up _unfuckable_."

She's never been so mad that she can't even _speak_.

—

She stops for a few nights. Lets the tension build.

She can feel him waiting. Always after midnight. _I'd sacrifice much more than sleep to make you suffer_.

It must be his breath that sounds so heavy behind the wall. She falls asleep with a smile.

Dreams of his fingers sliding in and out of her.

—

She starts to wear tighter shirts, the ones that show a bit too much belly, a bit too much cleavage, a bit too much back over her low cut jeans. She wears that push-up bra that practically cuts her circulation off, but damn if her boobs don't look _so _good. _Who's flat again?_

In the kitchen, she flips her hair to the side and bites into her toast. She takes her time licking the jam off her bottom lip. When she's done, she makes a show of putting her pretty pink lip gloss back on.

His eyes are burning holes through her. She bends over when she puts her plate into the sink, shakes her ass just the slightest bit.

Everyone leaves, but he stays. Arms crossed and _pissed_. She spins and winks. Walks away.

But then his hand is splayed over her stomach, pulling her back. Then she's flush against his chest. Then his mouth is by her ear, hot.

"Who are you fooling?" he says low, and reaches under the shoulder of her shirt, snapping her bra strap. Hard. She hisses.

He doesn't let her leave. He holds her there. Seconds that drag on for_ever_.

He pulls her top up, over her breasts. "_Cover up_." It sounds so _bitter_.

Once she's free, she faces him. Pulls it down even lower than before.

He looks dangerous. Like he'll hurt her.

Like he'll _eat _her.

He bumps his shoulder so hard against hers that she stumbles.

—-

She likes being poison — no, _loves _it. Biting into his bloodstream.

_I'm on top. I always have been. Always will be_.

—-

In school, he avoids her.

So, naturally, she goes out of her way to find him. She memorized his schedule at the beginning of the semester, anyway.

But he always turns the corner. Always hides.

For weeks, this goes.

Until she sees him in the hallway with his tongue down some girl's throat. In waves, her blood runs cold.

He slowly blinks his eyes open. Stares right at her.

Winks.

—-

That night, she's whining and whimpering his name. Panting like that porn star she watched for _research_.

_Fucking despicable. Fucking useless. Fucking pig._

She'll kill him slowly. Twist the knife into every corner. _Suffer. Suffer. Suffer._

Sex is power, isn't it? Isn't that what it's all about? She can win now. She can _win_.

When she cums, her whole body lifts off the bed.

"Deeeer-_ek."_

In that moment, a moan.

From the other side of the wall.


	4. control

All that runs through his mind all day is that wet spot in the middle of her underwear while she was yelling at him to go away.

* * *

He doesn't hear her anymore.

_Let the punishment fit the crime._

She doesn't look at him but when she does, it's with pure disdain. When he turns around, she's still staring.

Always staring.

He talks to her like he always does. But she doesn't bite with her words anymore. He didn't think she'd sink any further.

He gets close to her and she's always burnt. Running away. As if she didn't start it all.

There's something lurking in the wild of her eyes. He catches glimpses. They slip to the bottom.

But he sees the want. And he'll seize it. Lick her up.

He's never wanted so bad.

* * *

He waits for her every night to put her hands in the right places so she could make the right noises and take him right back in.

He wants her back. Not that she was ever his.

(For a minute or two, she might've been, though.)

He stuffs the shame into the deep, dark corner and throws gas into the fire in his chest and he finds himself pushing her door open, so casually it almost doesn't hurt.

What does hurt is her hair, dark and rich, falling over her shoulders, eyes soft and wide, only cracking when he comes around.

It used to be fun.

"What do you want?" and it sounds like nothing that's ever come out of her mouth. Full and heavy and slow, blaming.

"To help you get started," and he's never had this lump in his throat before, rasping raw.

He closes her door so quiet and heads to her, smoothly and all cool and all pretend, sits beside her on her bed, and snatches her wrist away from the book in her lap before she can pull back.

He has nowhere to look but into her blue; he licks her first two fingers from the base up and sucks them into his mouth. Sucks the way he wants her to.

Her lips are rose and parted, and he drinks in the color.

He drags his tongue along the tips and back down, sticking it in between and licking up.

He doesn't really know he's saying it: "I bet you'd taste good."

"G-good?" she whispers, like she can't even believe he's in front of her, leaning in.

"Delicious." He kisses her palm with his open mouth and down onto the inside of her wrist, too.

She's raspberries, vanilla, and cream.

He swipes his thumb along the bottom of her lip. "You look delicious," he rasps.

"_Derek…_"

He rests his arms on either side of her body, caging her in. His nose nearly brushes the tip of hers. He pulls his sight down.

Her chest is pink and heaving. Nipples hard under her tank top. He'd eat her.

He knows she's looking at him looking, and he takes his time finding her eyes again.

"Take your time," he says with a wink.

* * *

It takes some time, but she's moaning softly.

He pretends she's making those noises because of him.

* * *

He's hypersensitive to her, tuned into every single movement and breath.

He's always about to touch her, take her, hold her. But then his mind catches up and it hurts worse than the distance ever will.

There's nothing he's craved more than her.

That's why when he'd normally go out of his way to avoid her in school for his own sanity, he slides in the seat right next to her in the cafeteria. He doesn't think. There's no sense in it anymore.

He doesn't miss the flush that creeps up her neck. He smiles with all his teeth.

Her lip gloss is too pink and too sticky. Cherry or strawberry or watermelon. Either way, he's a second away from eating it off. _Something's gotta give._

He rests a hot palm on the inside of her thigh, her little-too-short skirt hiking upward. He squeezes her and she squeaks.

His fingers skim across the cotton of her underwear and then they're trapped there. She's red in the face, all flustered and embarrassed and everything _good, suffer now._

He'd feel bad if he wasn't in the right mind to remember just how she's tortured _him_ the past few weeks.

Casually, he leans in, like he's telling her secrets.

"Imagine my fingers inside you. But you do already, don't you?"

Her eyes flash, pupils blown wide as she whips her head to face him. _That's my girl._

"I'm not your _girl_."

"I said that out loud?"

"_Yes. _Get your hand _off of me,_" she whispers angrily.

"I would if you weren't keeping it there, _sweetheart_."

She uncrosses her legs with a huff, and he takes the chance to skim the tip of his index down the line of her pussy.

"Der-_ek_," she grits from behind her teeth, but he saw it: the shiver that ran through her body. Like just that single touch could have sent her over the edge.

"I could make you feel a whole lot more of that if you let me, Casey." He doesn't mean to sound so...

"Not a chance in _hell_." It's all bitter and poison out of her mouth. A means of protection, he knows, but it still settles deep down in his gut and twists everything there.

"We'll see about that."

Her expression changes then, the weight of his tone landing.

But it's not like she _knows_.

Does she?

He's never been so out of control. Just a look, and he's walking away. Trying to hate her a little more than before.

* * *

You can't hate someone unless you loved them first, can you?

* * *

The line is thin. Really, really thin.

Thinner than the wall between them.

* * *

He knows she's baiting him, yet he takes it anyway. She's even smarter, and more manipulative than she appears to be.

She's kind of a siren. Maybe she'll be kind enough to put him out of his misery.

When he opens her door, she's sitting against the headboard with her legs spread and her hand resting on the tiny little pouch of fat on her belly. He finds it too sexy.

It's just her, with her bare legs and oversized shirt and messy waves and the back and forth and push and pull of her evil fucking mind games.

"What the fuck do you want?" he says, voice rough.

She stretches her neck, long and slender and elegant, and her lips look swollen. Like she's been biting them all day. "Close the door. Please," she rasps, her eyes betraying her shame.

_Good. You should be fucking ashamed._

He gives her a hard look up and down, jaw and shoulders set tight. He closes it gently and crosses his arms over his chest.

"What?"

"I… I want you to…"

"You want something? _Wow. _Un-_fucking_-believa—"

"Watch. Watch me."

"_Watch?_"

"Yes. But don't touch."


	5. power

The darkest thing in the room are his eyes. They've always been the reason she's reckless, and uninhibited now, ignoring the consequences.

Putting on a show for him. In the middle of the night. While their family is asleep.

He's worth it all. _Apparently_. _Allegedly._

_Suffer._

She doesn't spread her legs any wider than they are now, but her fingers are walking down the skin of her stomach. Back up again. In circles, the way he sends her.

Around, around, around…

It's _unfortunate _how good he looks. Messy, messy hair and that sleepy, pouty look hiding behind the steel of his stare.

It's illegal. It's turning her _on_.

_Suffer. Suffer._

She'll rip the control out of his filthy hands, his dirty mouth. She'll take it all and she'll rip him apart. She'll wear the crown.

She dips her fingers under the elastic of her pretty purple underwear and barely hides a smile when his breath hitches.

" Y'sure 'bout this, Case?" and it sounds like he's parched. He looks _weak_.

She grins. Sun beaming off her teeth.

"Why wouldn't I be, _Der_?" she says as she cups herself fully and squeezes. She moans while looking him dead in the face.

"Just making sure," he deadpans. He's motionless.

She runs her first two fingers up and down her slit. He tracks her movement, unblinking.

She withdraws, something sinister coming to mind. They lock eyes again, and then she's sucking her fingers into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks.

_Suffer. Suffer. Suffer._

"Little dry," she quips and smirks, because they both know damn well that's a lie.

He gulps.

She's quick to find her clit and quick to roll her hips into the air, grabbing the headboard behind her, eyes squeezed shut.

It's sick how her shame doesn't even exist right now. How could it? She's never felt so beautiful.

Being watched. Being wanted. It's endless waves of fire trailing down her spine and spreading from her stomach to all the ends of her. It's power. It's _control_.

She takes her free hand and grabs her breast under her shirt. She touches herself the same way she has been nearly every night, building and building and building so that one day, it'd all crash down on _him_.

Except a moment later, she's the one who falls.

Because she opens her eyes and he's leaning against the door.

Palming himself over his pajamas.

She thought that she felt butterflies _before_.

His lips are parted, breath short and ragged, and he lifts a brow. And she knows what it means because unfortunately she knows him too well: "_What the fuck did you expect?"_

She doesn't know what she expected.

"Why'd you stop?" he says, hot and gruff and she feels it right in her ear.

He's too close. Too far away. She slips the tip of her middle finger inside of her. Pinches her nipple. Her whole entire body aches watching him, now.

She shuts her eyes again and tries to force herself to relax so she could fit the rest of her finger in.

But she can't. Her chest is heaving. There's sweat rolling down the backs of her thighs. His breath is getting _closer_.

"_Derek_," she whimpers, and she doesn't really know why.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" and it's sickly sweet and _sexy_ rolling off his tongue. Her mouth goes dry. She's afraid to look at him now.

It's scary how bad she wants more.

"Just relax," he whispers. She mewls. Like she's about to cum from the sound of his _voice._

_Get a fucking grip. God._

"Open your legs a little wider. And look at me."

Here's that shame she was just thinking about. Coming back full-force and hitting her square in the face.

Only because she listens to him without hesitation.

He's standing at the edge of the bed now, gripping himself firmly under his pants. She could see the trail of hair above it. She licks her lips.

"Fuck, _Casey_."

She sinks her finger slowly inside, as far as it can go, and keeps it there.

He growls. And it makes her tighter.

"Keep _going._" He's rubbing himself faster now.

"Don't rush me. My hand is cramping." She tries not to look too smug.

She's not ready for the pure anger that flashes across his face, or the fact that she feels genuine fear for a split second.

Or the fact that it makes her even _wetter_.

_Shame, shame. I know your name._

"Then take them off."

"No," she almost stutters.

Then he's groaning. His bare hand against his bare —

"_Derek_," she says again. Her face is contorting, the line between the pleasure and pain blurring.

Then he's kneeling on the floor. Head right between her legs.

Mouth miles away from her.

"Oh my god…"

"I'm not gonna touch you. Don't worry." His eyes are glued to the middle of her thighs.

"It's not that…" but the words die in her throat and she's moaning again, watching him lick his teeth, slow like honey.

Then she's fucking herself. And she's fucking herself like she _means it_.

And it's for him. All for him. Her most powerful and powerless.

She doesn't know she's being loud until his hand is over her open mouth, but she sucks three of his fingers in and bites down.

He's leaning over her body, so careful not to touch any part of him to any part of her.

He's blatantly jerking himself off right in front of her, cursing and then cursing her name.

"_Casey._"

And that's when she comes.

For a second, she must have died. Because when she comes to, he's staring at her with wild eyes and his cum dripping down his hand, stock still and unbreathing.

Without even daring to turn away, she curls her lips up into her strawberry sugar smile.

She swipes her index finger over the small drop of him that happened to land on her thigh and brings it to her mouth, licking it slow.

He grabs her wrist and _yanks_ her up, like she weighs _nothing_. Her gasp sounds into the inside of his mouth, and for a moment, she holds her breath.

They're always a second away from giving in.

His hand feels like a bruise. Even her veins hurt. She can feel the cold wetness of her saliva. She shivers.

It's not until his lips are right over hers that he breaks the silence.

So quietly, he speaks. "I'll get you."

And it's always been a game, hasn't it? It's always been a struggle for the top.

That's not her stomach dropping. That's not her heart hitting the floor.

No. It's her hand ripping through the hair at the nape of his neck. Her teeth grazing the corner of his mouth.

"I'd like to see you try."

He tears away from her. Cleans his mess.

"Oh, you _will_."

And in the morning, she steps over all the broken pieces.


	6. craving

The next morning, he barges into the bathroom during her time and doesn't question why the door was unlocked. She gives him the same old dirty look — tries to hide the fact that she's shaking.

She's putting her makeup on, so obviously, she wants him to leave. Except he doesn't leave.

The craving only ever gets worse. The self control he barely had to begin with?

Halfway to the sun.

He locks the door.

She's choking on the words in her throat, and it gives him enough time to press his body to her, his chest against her back.

Her ass feels _way _too good against him. She just barely brushes it over his groin and he has to swallow his moan.

"Right now?" she wavers. He grinds back into her and sighs, and they both grab the sink in front of them. Her body temperature only seems to rise.

They both look up to the mirror, locking eyes. Finding the same depravity in hers.

He quirks a brow. "Scared?"

His smile unfurls like a wolf's. He loves driving her crazy. Drawing out the _need_ in her to come out on top.

There's that glint in her eye. The one that kinda makes him go wild.

Then she's rolling her hips with such grace, like it's the most natural thing she could do.

That's _her_. Elevating it. Challenging him. He'd never expect anything less.

So she really shouldn't be so surprised.

He tucks his right hand into the front of her low-rise jeans, fingers pressing over the fabric of her underwear. He rubs his thumb across her belly, firm and slow.

She's wearing one of her tight shirts again. Something pretty and pink and exactly what he'd love to rip off.

He hums in her ear, brushing his lips over the shell of it. She's holding back all her little noises, her little pants and moans. She's barely breathing, trembling under him, but her face remains stoic and cold.

He slips his other hand onto her stomach and slides her shirt up over her ribcage, just beneath her bra.

He traces the space inbetween with his index finger, their blood pumping hard, almost in unison.

"What's the point, Case? You want it just as bad as I do," he rumbles.

He presses his palms into her skin and holds her even closer. She lolls her head back against his shoulder when he dips his fingers just a bit deeper, rolling the tips of them on her. Her nose is grazing his neck, lids shut and mouth parted, hot on him.

"You sure about that?" she says, breathless.

He wraps his arm around her torso, and then his hand around the dip of her waist. "Absolutely," but something in him falters.

She still doesn't look at him. Like she's trying to block out the fact that it's _him_.

And it's unfair, to say the least.

When all this time, he only ever wanted it to be her. He doesn't accept this until _now_, having her in his arms, opening her body but shutting everything else.

There's a pang in his chest but before he can choke on it, he sets it on fire and then he's on his knees and licking up the curve of her spine. Her hips fit right in his hands. He presses his thumbs into the dimples in the middle of them.

She's squirming and rolling and then he's kissing, _kissing_ her for the first time, starting from the middle of her back and going down. He wants it to sear her skin. But it feels too intimate.

Too soft to be anything else.

So he sinks his teeth into her love handle, and watches as she arches her back.

"_Derek_," she whispers, voice breaking.

He licks the indent of his bite. Says nothing.

Then he's spinning her and pinning her against the sink, tongue trailing up from the top of her jeans to the space between her ribs. Daring her in the silence to look at everything he's doing to her.

He slides his hands over the tops of her thighs, rubbing the insides with his thumbs. Her knees buckle slightly and he smirks.

He kisses the little bit of fat just underneath her belly button. Nips at it right after. Her knuckles are as white as the sink she's been gripping.

"Enough with the games, Casey," he says low, leaving kisses all over her skin. "We both know you can't resist me," but it comes out sounding so weak.

"_Mmm_," she cants lazily against his mouth.

He stops and whispers. "Look at me."

"Hmmm…"

Then he's on his feet, before the sinking feeling pulls him down further. He wants to be mad. He wants to be _pissed_.

He takes her jaw into his hand, gripping without real conviction, and she tries just barely to shake him away.

"Look at me. Case." And still, she doesn't.

He tightens his hold then, the irritation genuine and growing, now. "_Look _at me."

And then she does.

But it's that look in her eyes. The cracked look. The spiteful one, all rage and revenge and _hurt_.

He has to stop himself from letting her go.

"Why did you start all this? _Hm?_" and he says it before it even goes through his mind. The anger he called upon feels ugly, but full in his chest, bubbling to the surface.

"You're _unfortunate_," she seethes hot and low.

She bares her teeth at him and shoves him off, but he's quick to grab a hold of her arm and pupl her roughly back to him.

"_How so_?" he says sarcastically, nostrils flaring.

She rips herself away from him. "Of course you _don't know_."

"Enlighten me."

"_No_."

"Why the fuck _not_?"

She spins to face him. Tears pooling.

"_Unfortunate_," she repeats.

Then she's out, and he's alone.

He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it doesn't go down. He tries to push the discomfort out, but the weight doesn't come off.

He stands there stupidly. Wondering when he got here.


	7. dreams

He's always been more of a nasty bruise that took too long to heal. But now he's a third degree burn in the hole in her chest and if the world happened to end, she wouldn't mind.

She's running in circles down a line.

Without a chance to breathe. He can never give her just that, can he?

It's a losing game, and from the beginning, she's known. There's nothing here for her except for her heart being sore and what was she thinking? How much more can she lose?

She'd give all to him. Her mind. Her body. The scraps of her soul. The last lick of her sanity.

Choking on the fear, she reaches for herself.

Wants her back.

* * *

She ignores the jabs he takes at her. The looks and the slight touches.

She wants to want him to rot with guilt.

* * *

She can't risk falling apart.

* * *

It's weeks before he breaks.

Once everybody's gone to bed and she's walking out of the bathroom, his hand is in the crook of her elbow and he's pulling her to his room. She's too surprised to struggle.

He closes the door and she's small, looking down at her feet. Trying to take her arm back but he seems to think it's his.

"I'd appreciate it if you let go," she says without the bark or the bite, and his grip goes deeper.

"I'd appreciate it if you _acknowledged_ my _existence_."

"Since when did that matter to you?"

He throws her arm down like it burns, and she lets it swing loosely. "Since you started treating me like I'm _nothing_."

She turns her back to him, reaching for the knob. "Don't act like that's not what you wanted," and she feels the lie on her tongue, jagged like unsharpened knives. "Good night."

He wraps his fingers on her wrist and constricts her blood flow like vines, and somehow she knows he doesn't mean for it to hurt.

Despite the venom in his glare.

He wrenches her forward like _she's _nothing. Until they see eye to eye, until their breath hovers in the space between their lips and the earth slows.

She always knows what he never says. Even though she could never bring herself to believe it.

She recognizes the look in his eyes, but before all falls down, before she can give it a name, he cuts her clean off.

"Whatever the _fuck_ is going through your head. Knock it off."

"I was just wondering when you were going to be kind enough to let me go."

He loosens his hold, but barely. "When you quit running away from me."

"Again, since when did _I_ _matter_ to you?"

It's silent but it hurts her ears and she realizes what she's said and he's heaving so hard and she follows until her head is empty and it echoes.

Then he's pushing her on his bed and pulling her head back by the hair, crawling over her.

He kisses her down the middle of her throat. Every press is a brand in the shape of his name, and nothing else has as much sense as belonging to him.

The idea shoots through her limbs, ice-hot. He tastes down the space between her breasts and it settles low, pouring like hot honey in the pit of her stomach and outside of her.

She doesn't realize how she has her knees against either side of him, locking him there.

He's a dream in front of her. With his fingers hooked into the elastic of her underwear and her sweats.

He begs with his eyes. She's seen it before.

But never like this. Like he'd die.

And maybe she would, too.

Maybe it is just a dream. All a dream.

She gives up and gives in and the air on her legs and pussy is so cool that she shivers.

He's on his knees, staring dumbly, unbelieving. Straight at where she's most vulnerable. Afraid to touch her.

At least she still has the decency to feel exposed.

Slowly, she goes to close her legs, but then he's wrapping his hands around the backs of her thighs and pinning them to the mattress, holding her open.

"_Fuck._" It's raw from the inside of his chest.

"_Casey_." It comes out bleeding from his throat and out his mouth and into her.

Then he's kneeling on the bed instead and taking her ankles until they're over his shoulders.

He kisses her fully on the inside of her right ankle. Holds her instep in his palm. Almost… adoringly.

He closes his eyes with each kiss up the inside of her leg. Like he's savoring her.

Or like he's holding back.

He bends lower as he goes higher. Lingering longer. More sweetly as her skin goes softer.

Near the inside of her thigh, she shudders at the tenderness of his lips.

"You're so fucking wet… can't believe it…" he whispers.

His breath over her heat makes her shut her knees around his head.

Too sensitive. Too _afraid_.

"I won't touch, I won't touch,_ I won't touch you_," he stutters, trying to back away, but her body must not trust what he does to her.

He has to pry her open again. She throws her arm over her eyes and rips a hand through his hair, holding tightly.

"Casey. I need you to _relax_."

His voice sounds so nice. Like rich hot chocolate. It's all she can think of.

"Relax," he hugs her thigh to his chest.

"Relax," he mumbles in a soothing kiss on her knee.

"_Relax_," he whispers with kind hands rubbing her skin slowly.

"_Derek_," she sighs.

"Yeah, baby?"

She rolls her hips as the words fall out of his mouth so naturally.

"You're fuckin' killing me," he says lowly when she moans. "Casey…"

"Mmm…"

"_Casey._"

"_Mmm?_"

"Can you touch yourself again?" he says in one breath. "For me, baby?"

She should he ashamed of how fast her hand goes to her clit, but it's drowned out by the desperate noise he makes.

He snakes his right hand onto her stomach and cups her hip with the other. Rubbing circles with his thumb. Watching her slip her middle finger into herself.

She fucks herself for him, slow and deep. Just like when he was only listening.

"You're so fucking _hot_," he says like it's all he knows, and the weight of it fills her with such _visceral _emotion, making her blood actually fucking boil and her chest ache and her body snap and —

She comes hard around her finger and under his stare and with tears leaking down her cheeks and down her neck and down her chest.

Freely pouring while he watches her sex. Coming and coming undone.

She lays her hand by her side, exhausted.

"That was…" he starts, but he's still not looking at her face.

He hesitates before reaching forward.

Kisses her right on her center.

And he takes his time. Pressing his lips so firm and lovingly against her that she sobs.

That's when his head snaps up.

He licks her off his lips and and stares at her, unmoving.

She wonders if he'd ever kiss her tears, too.


End file.
